The ground didn't feel the same anymore.
It was still cracked.
Still dry.
Still endless.
But—
something had changed.
Yuta stood still.
His body didn't tremble.
Didn't twitch.
It held.
…Better.
The thought came easily now.
Clear.
He moved.
one step.
Another.
The pressure inside him shifted as he moved—faint, but there.
Waiting.
He focused on it.
It responded.
Flowed.
His limbs moved sharper.
Faster.
More precise.
Then he stopped.
The pressure faded.
Not gone.
Just quiet again.
—
Something felt wrong.
The air—
was still.
Too still.
The "feeding ground" behind him lay silent.
No movement.
No shifting.
No sound.
Yuta didn't turn.
His body tensed.
The feeling inside him twisted.
Not hunger.
Something else.
…Danger.
The thought came.
Immediate.
—
A sound.
Faint.
Dragging.
Slow.
Close.
—
He turned.
Carefully.
Something moved at the edge of the feeding ground.
Long.
Low.
Its body scraped across the ground in uneven, jerking pulls.
Clawed.
Hooked.
It dragged itself forward.
Each movement tearing into the earth beneath it.
It stopped.
Its body lifted slightly.
Not fully.
Just enough.
As if—
it was sensing.
The ground.
The air.
The absence.
—
Yuta didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The thing shifted again.
Closer now.
Its underside flexed, claws digging into the cracked ground.
Pulling.
Dragging.
Closer.
—
It reached the edge.
Stopped.
The bodies were gone.
Most of them.
What remained—
empty.
Hollow.
Drained.
The creature stilled.
Then—
it moved again.
Faster.
It tore through what was left, its claws ripping into empty shells.
Searching.
Violent.
Sudden.
It stopped.
Its body turned.
Slow.
Toward him.
—
The pull inside Yuta twisted.
Sharp.
Violent.
…run waya.
His body didn't move.
No, it couldn't.
—
The creature moved.
Fast.
Faster than before.
It dragged itself forward in a burst, claws ripping across the ground as it closed the distance.
Yuta reacted.
His body shifted—
too slow.
Too late.
The creature slammed into him.
The impact threw him sideways, his limbs collapsing as he hit the ground.
Pain shot through the body.
Not as before.
Sharper.
Focused.
Real.
—
The creature didn't stop.
It came again.
Claws first.
Yuta's body moved.
Not thinking.
The pressure inside him surged.
Flowed.
Through his limbs.
His body twisted—
barely avoiding the strike.
The claws tore into the ground beside him.
Deep.
Cracking the surface.
—
He moved.
Back.
Unstable.
But moving.
The pressure stayed.
Flowing.
His limbs responded faster.
Cleaner.
—
The creature turned again.
Didn't hesitate.
It just lunged.
—
Yuta pushed.
The pressure surged outward.
Not into himself—
into something else.
A corpse nearby twitched.
Then moved.
It lifted—
jerking.
Uncontrolled.
But enough.
The creature struck it.
Tore through it instantly.
—
Yuta moved.
Forward.
Not away.
Toward it.
The pull inside him twisted.
Not fear.
Not hunger.
Something else.
—
His limb struck.
Weak.
But it hit.
The pressure surged again.
Through him.
Into the contact.
The creature jerked.
Just for a moment.
—
It was enough.
—
Yuta pressed forward.
His body moved faster now.
More stable.
More precise.
The pressure followed.
Flowed.
Strengthened.
—
The creature lashed out.
Claws cutting through the air.
One struck him.
His body twisted.
Too slow.
The blow landed.
It tore through part of his form—
but not enough.
Not fatal.
—
He didn't stop.
Couldn't.
The pull inside him surged.
Stronger.
Violent.
—
His limb pierced into the creature's underside.
Soft.
Exposed.
—
The moment he touched it—
it started.
The flesh sank inward.
Collapsed.
Pulled into him.
—
The creature reacted instantly.
Violently.
Its body thrashed.
Claws tore into him.
Again.
Again.
—
But he didn't let go.
—
The pull consumed.
Faster.
Stronger.
The hollow inside him filled—
then stretched—
then filled again.
—
The creature slowed.
Its movements weakened.
Its strikes lost force.
—
Then—
it stopped.
—
Yuta didn't move.
Didn't pull away.
He held.
Until there was nothing left to take.
—
The body beneath him went still.
Empty.
He had devoured it
—
The pressure inside him surged.
Stronger than before.
Not just stable.
More.
—
He stood.
Slowly.
His limbs held.
Perfectly.
No shaking.
No delay.
—
The world was still hostile.
Still endless.
Still wrong.
—
But now—
he wasn't just surviving it.
—
He was part of it.